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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691724">Finite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strumhexe/pseuds/strumhexe'>strumhexe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vast!Jon, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, M/M, rated for language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:35:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strumhexe/pseuds/strumhexe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up by the sea, it was not difficult for one young Jonathan Sims to feel the tempting pull of the curling waves and the open sky, which he could drink in all their blue and infinite glory, young and alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Finite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the first fanfic I have ever posted anywhere. Hope it's a good start! No beta-reading so there might be some minor mistakes, sorry!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon stood at the very end of the dock. His ink-black curls were caressed by the whistling wind and his feet pressed expectantly against the groaning wood as if bracing to jump. Brown eyes gazing off into the distant, churning waves, he can see a storm breaking. Thick gray clouds slowly pressed their way toward the shore. The gentle blue sky was trampled, overtaken easily by the rolling, thundering doom of the oncoming downpour. Great thrums of thunder and lightning shook his bony knees and struck his core with ease. Everyone else was inside, probably a smart decision, Jon thinks. Grandmother had wanted him home by dinnertime, but… Waves curled against the thick wooden stakes, buried in the sand underneath the deep, dark water. Light reflected from the sun quickly faded as the endless expanse of smoky gray overtook it. Jon stood, his skin felt such a chill, which shot through his spine like the flashing lightning, which arched and dove and <em> struck </em>. </p><p>Vision foggy, obscured by the infinitesimal droplets of rain, Jon held his small, skinny hands out toward the sea; as if he aimed to push back against the great gusts of billowing, dancing wind. The drizzle turned to rain, and the rain turned to a storm. His measly hands struggled against the sudden rush of wind as it hurdled toward him. He let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding just for his throat to be assaulted by another sudden burst of wind. He choked and he felt a whistling, tingling sensation between his brows. It wasn’t quite painful, but it caught him off guard. He stumbled back and was immediately thrown against the mercy of the creaky dock. </p><p>Fat drops of rain pelted him, making him grimace as the short, prickling bursts of pain shot through his face. Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked and everything was alight. Cold, burning light. Ozone mixed with the salty sea filled his nose, making him feel lightheaded. Jon struggled to plant his feet once again but found that he could not. The boy’s eyes darted around helplessly as the hellish storm continued relentlessly. Forebodingly, the clouds peered down at him as if disapproving of his failure to endure. He could do nothing but lay there and catch his breath, shrinking under the glare of the storm.</p><p>Terror rocketed through his body as another bolt of lightning screamed silently, seeming so close. Thunder pounded its drums with a feverish fury. Jon thought himself on the verge of death. Tears forced themselves from his wide, wet eyes and mixed with the terrible rain as it poured down his face. Breathing was becoming difficult as the wind caught his throat with a powerful grip that seemed never ceasing. Jon was going to die. He struggled to turn his head to look back toward Bournemouth, scalp scraping against splintering wood. It seemed so tiny so far out on the dock, such a minute object amongst the great and raging storm. A speck. Jon choked out a strangled cry, an attempt to scream. For help, for anything or anyone. No one came. Jon lay there helplessly until the terrible storm had passed and all he could do was shiver under the horrible pressure of the wind. His clothes were soaked through and covered in small splinters. His favorite sweater was wrinkled and dripping, water absorbed into the wood beneath him. Gentle churning and chopping waves did not, and would not return for some time. Slowly, he rose to sit on the dock. Billowy, light gray clouds passed uselessly above him and the sky was murky and miserable, sharing the color of the clouds. Jon choked out another helpless cry. He was much too old to cry, he thought. Shakily, the boy rose to his feet. Once more, the wind pushed him but much more gently. As the fog rolled in, Jon started back home, daring to glance back once at the slowly calming sea.</p>
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